Just Lucky, I Guess: Part 60

by DuAnn Cowart

This one, again, is for Luba and Alicia. I owe you both so much for everything.

She held his gaze unflinchingly. "I love you, too, Nathan. What does that have to do with anything?"

Nathan Summers, veteran of a thousand battlefields, knew well the feel of a killing blow. "If you have to ask, Dom, it doesn't mean as much as I thought it did."

He stared at her, dropping an unbandaged arm to his side. "But remember that I said it. I love you, Domino. No more excuses, no more lies. This is all on you now."

Through clenched teeth, she hissed, "Gee, Nate, yet more pressure. Thanks bunches." Averting her eyes, she growled "I do not fucking need this right now."

"There's no pressure, Dom," he told her matter-of-factly, though his uncomfortable stance and a flicker in his eyes perhaps belied the statement. "As much as I want to, I'm not pushing you." The statement sounded implausible even to him.

Rolling her eyes, she responded, "Nathan. We've been through this. I. Am. Not. Ready. How many times do I have to say that?"

"You've said it plenty." His voice was flat, bitter. "Believe me, I understand how you feel. Just-" He paused awkwardly, a bit embarassed at the blatant sentiment. "Just remember that the deal's on the table."

She inclined her head, an acknowledgement of sorts. Wrapping her arms around her chest, trembling just a bit, she muttered, "Just. . . give me time, Nate." There was more than a hint of bitterness in her voice. "Think you can bring yourself to do that much?"

He managed a small smile, though it did not reach his eyes. "You forget who you're talking to, Domino. I'm the flonquin' Askani'son. I've got nothing *but* time."

"That makes two of us," she answered sharply, staring into the deepening shadows of the night. Before he could reach out to her, she squared her shoulders and walked away from him. In a crisp voice he recognized as a warning sign, she ordered, "Now come on, let's go inside. It's getting cold out here."

______

The last shades of twilight had faded to a thick lavender border around the horizon when they finally reached the mansion. Terse silence had made the long walk back seem even longer, and both were immensely relieved when Sam Guthrie came bounding across the huge cultivated lawn, assaulting them with a barrage of questions.

"Where have you been? Are y'all all right? Hank and Bobby ordered pizza, have either of you had anything to eat? Dom, Mr. Wisdom was hunting you- have you talked to him yet?" His smile, radiant at first, fell immediately. "What's wrong?"

Cable paused to allow Sam to join them. Domino displayed no such courtesy, only slowed long enough to snap over her shoulder, "Quit being such a mother hen, Sam, we're fine. I'm fine, Nate's fine, the whole friggin' world is just fine. Do me a favor and tell Pete I'll talk to him in the morning. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed." Leaving the two men in her wake, she stalked across the lawn, slamming the heavy doors of the left wing entrance behind her.

When she was inside, Cable's shoulders slumped, and he whispered a soft Askani curse. "Your timing just couldn't be better, Sam," he sighed, without any real anger.

"Yeah? I could say the same thing, sir." Watching sadly as his former leaders, his friends, repeated the same steps he'd watched them dance for years now, murmured, "What's going on with you two?"

"Damn if I know, Sam," Cable answered flatly, expression stony save for tight lines around his eyes. "I don't understand much of anything anymore."

"With all due respect, that's bullshit, sir," Sam, said quietly, drumming up every ounce of his formidable courage and squaring his shoulders against the inevitable assault. "Beggin' your pardon, but that's what it is. I might be oversteppin' my bounds by saying this, but sir, I've held my tongue on this for years, and enough's enough. Given everything that's happened, now might not be the best time t' do it, but this can't go on."

He raised his hands helplessly. "I don't know exactly what happened over there, and I know that you can't wave a magic wand and make everything better just like that- but even so, sir, it's a start. You'll never know if you don't try."

Samuel Guthrie was a man of many talents, not the least of which was an extraordinary gift for strategy. In the many months that he had debated confronting Cable with this very matter, he had considered a gamut of possible reactions to his intereference, ranging from a good likelihood of forced indifference to a slight chance of decapitation. No matter how many times he had run through this particular scenario, however, he had never once even considered the possibility that it would result in laughter from anyone, and certainly not the dour Cable.

It started with a slight uplift of the corners of his lips, then spread to a broad smile, then a chuckle, which blossomed into a sound that could only be called a full-fledged belly laugh and wheezing convulsions that obviously pained still-healing ribs. The grimmest man he'd ever known was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. "Thanks. . .Sam," Cable wheezed, wiping the corners of his eyes. "I needed that."

Sam stepped back, careful to keep far out of striking distance. "Are you. . . all right, sir?" He asked gingerly, baffled by the unexpected reaction, half expecting to find himself punched in the mouth any moment now.

"Fine, just fine," Cable shook his head, unsuccessfully biting back a still slightly hyserical smile. "Do something about it. Good plan. I . . . got it," he finished, shaking his head. "Don't know why I didn't think of that before." He glanced back into the darkening woods, and his smile quickly faded into a dark scowl. "Yeah."

Without a word, the older man turned and stalked back to the mansion, and a very puzzled Sam Guthrie followed, as always, beside him, confused and more than a little disturbed. ________________

Domino slowly ascended the spiral staircase at the junction of the residential wing housing X-Force. Here, alone at last, she allowed herself to wince at the lingering stiffness and muscle pain that lingered from her fight with Tyler.

It was nothing more than an inconvenience, really. She healed quickly, physical pain a familiar old friend. In truth, it gave her something to think about other than Nathan and his unexpected forthrightness.

She shivered, despite the warm air pouring out of the overhead vents. He wanted too much. He had shared so much of it, but still he didn't know, couldn't know the extent of the injuries inflicted by Tyler. Some part of her shied away at the mere thought of that name, and a deep black ache sounded deep in her soul. He didn't know how much pain she was in, and if he knew, he didn't care.

She paused, leaning on the stair rail to catch her breath. No, that wasn't fair. He did know. He had shared that much with her, at least. The bond was snapped on both ends, and if what she had gathered was true, the pain was even worse for a telepath. He had seen what his bastard psuedo-son had done, and he knew damn well what it had cost.

He just thought, in characteristic Nate-fashion, that they could blink their eyes and wriggle their noses and make the damn thing go away just because he wanted it to. He was the most selfish son of a bitch she had ever met.

Closing her eyes tightly, she struggled to hold back the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her, trying her damndest not to feel the aching longing and regret that was seeping through the walls Emma had so recently helped her build.

The worst part of it all was that she had come so close to giving in, to allowing him to touch her, to try just one more time . . . She had almost jumped off that precipice one more time, almost ripped open the mental stitches that held her psyche together and gave in to the pleading in Nathan's eyes.

She had almost said yes.

Fuck. No. She couldn't.

At least, now, here by herself, she didn't hurt anymore. She might not be clean, and she might not be whole, and she sure as shit might not have any idea about what she intended to do tomorrow, but at least she didn't hurt. At least the roiling turmoil that burbled darkly underneath her papery-thin shielding wouldn't have another opportunity to swallow her whole.

This was the last thing she needed right now.

'Be easy,' Emma Frost had warned her in a hushed telepathic whisper as they lay recovering from the psychic surgeries. While the others milled around the room, assuring themselves that both women were safe and more or less whole, Emma had spoken to her in a mental voice that was lighter than a caress, softer than a kiss. 'Give yourself time to heal. I've done what I can, and I believe you will recover, but don't be stupid. Don't force yourself to deal with anything deeper until you're ready.'

In the curious intimacy of similar strangers, Domino nodded, without any hint of anger at the other woman's presumptuousness. 'The same to you, Emma. And . . . thank you.'

That was all. No mental exercises of the kind Jean and Betsy had asked the last time she underwent a similar ordeal, no prescribed course of treatment. All she had to do in order to get stronger and get over this was to not think about it for a while.

It should have been the simplest thing in the world, but. . . it was impossible not to consider the most important thing in her world. This was all she thought about. Tyler, Nathan, her future, her life-

Enough.

Be easy.

This sure as hell wasn't easy.

Nathan was asking the impossible. The moment, the *instant*, she reached out to him and stepped out of herself, the reality of what had happened would come crashing in on her, and the fragile peace she had cobbled together would disintegrate like newsprint in a hailstorm. What she herself wanted was immaterial. Reality always came before dreams, and whatever else she was, she was a realist.

Reaching her landing, she sighed deeply, staring out of the tiny window in the doorway to the long hallway towards her room. Soon Tabitha and Sam, 'Berto and Cal, Terry and James would be in. Any other time she would hear the giggling and shrieking and turmoil of the children she'd adopted as her own. Any other time she would get up to bitch at them to be quiet and wind up splitting a six pack with any one of them, watching old movies or playing poker or just waxing on and on about life in general. Any other time she would look forward to being home.

Tonight, though- tonight the spacious walls of their wing seemed to be closing in on her. Tonight the thought of Nathan just across the hall seemed more than she could bear.

Sighing, she gathered her strength and pushed open the door to her floor. 'A hot shower, and then sleep.'

"Hey, darlin'," a gruff voice from behind the door interrupted her musings. "Good t' see you up and about."

She spun on her heel, ready for a fight. "Dammit, Logan, you scared the shit out of me," she growled, disappointed that the man beside her was a friend and not an enemy. Despite her aches and pains, it would have felt very, very good to release her frustration in a language with which she was familiar. "Why the hell are you lurking around this hall, anyway?"

He smiled, brown eyes creasing at the corners. "Lookin' for you, of course."

Despite her worst misgivings and the uneasiness welling inside, she smiled back. "You found me. Now what do you want?"

The expression on his face flickered, and for a moment she glimpsed a familiar longing that was quickly replaced by his characteristic toothy grin. "About a swimmin' pool full of beer, a thick steak, and some loud music. You up for it?"

She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head side to side, dark hair hiding her expression. "I appreciate the offer, Logan, truly I do, but I'm beat. Maybe later?"

"Suit yerself, Neena. Offer's open anytime." He turned to go, then paused, inclining his head thoughtfully. "Listen, I-" He paused, and sniffed the air lightly, to ensure they were alone. "I've known you since you were a little girl. I pretty much started you out in this line of work, and damn if I can't help feeling a little bit responsible for you."

Her lips thinned, and her face drained of all emotion. Her chest tightened, but she mumured coolly, "I'm a big girl, Logan. The daddy speech isn't necessary, really."

He held his hands out placatingly. "I know you are, darlin', but hear me out just this once, O.K.? For old times' sake?"

She studied his face, and finding no trace of guile, nodded warily. "Fine. Be quick about it, though, I'm tired."

Scratching his arm, he met her gaze. "Don't fret, Neena, I ain't about to get into yer business. Nothing pisses me off more than a do-gooder pryin' about in places where they ain't got no reason to be. All I'm trying to say is that it doesn't take a genius to figure out a little bit of what happened back there. Give it another chance."

Domino's throat went dry. Color flooded her pale face, causing the bruises and scrapes to stand out in sharp detail. "Is that what you came up here for, to make me *talk* about my problems? Thanks, but no thanks, Logan. I thought you of all people wouldn't buy into the third-rate feel-good psychobabble that flows like a river of shit around here."

Logan's creased brow furrowed even further. "Now just wait a flamin' minute here!" He bit his tongue. "Dammit, Nina, you're being so damn defensive that you aren't even listenin' to what I'm saying."

He stepped towards her, but she turned away, throwing up her hands in disgust. "You stay out of it. This is none of your friggin' concern." Sighing, she rubbed her face. "I thought better of you than this, Logan. Who in the *hell* do you think you are?"

"Somebody who gives a shit about you, dammit!" He snapped, brows knit together in consternation. "You always were too damn quick to jump to conclusions. Did you even *hear* me, Nina? I said it ain't none of my business, and it ain't! What's going on with you and Natey-boy ain't got nothin' to do with me."

"You're damn right it doesn't!" She yelled, fists balled at her side, only slightly mollified. "Then why in the hell are you throwing it in my face like that?"

Logan rolled his eyes, the stresses of the last few days taking their toll on him as well. "Will you shut the fuck up just a minute and listen to me? I'm *not*! All I'm tryin' to say is that I know what it's like to live with a head that's been scrambled like a centrifuge." The muscles of his jawline twitched, and his voice deepened even further.

She dropped her chin. "I know you do."

"Then listen to me," he grunted. "Don't expect too much too fast, but don't let this be the end, either."

"I thought you said you weren't going to bring up Nathan." Her voice was astringent and terribly cold.

"I *wasn't*," he answered pointedly, poking a blunt-tipped finger in her face. "I was talking about *you*, girl. Just because somebody fucks with your head doesn't mean you have to let them win. I'm livin' proof of that."

She glared at him, and the bitter darkness spilled out from her straining cracks of self-composure, oozing streams of hatred that directed themselves at the only available target.

"Yeah?" She spat furiously, and the unadulterated venom felt like sunshine. "You want I should pattern myself after *you*? You're a real role model, Logan. So right and secure with yourself that you fucked Betsy the first chance you got her away from Warren. What's the matter? Couldn't have Jean, so you got tired of waiting and decided to take the next best thing?"

Already exhausted and stressed from the pressures of the last few days, Logan's restraint snapped. A curtain of red descended, and he leapt, throwing his former student against the wall like she was a rank amateur. "Don't you ever, *ever* say anything like that again, girl," he growled, pinpricks of adamantium claws tips straining against his skin as he drew his fists back for a fight. "You get one warning shot on this one."

She hit the wall with a thud, then sprang back, rolling away immediately in a move that he himself had taught her. In one sweeping move, she spun and extended her leg in a full kick that hit the much heavier man behind his knees and brought him to the floor.

He lay there, eyes tightly closed, battling a familiar rage. A gutteral sound reverberated deep in his throat, and the stocky man sprang to his feet, face still twisted with anger. He glared at her for a moment, then the animal fury subsided and something approaching rationality returned.

Across the hallway, she stared down at him, allowing herself a small satisfied smile. "You just proved my point, Old Man," her lips curved in an ugly smile. "Don't pretend you're Phil Fucking Donahue if you can't handle your own damn medicine."

There was a long moment of silence, and Domino balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to fight again. "Y' made your point." He admitted gruffly as the man regained control of the animal within him. "Just-"

She dropped her head, and the anger and fury left as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her exhaustd and more than a little embarassed. "Don't say it, Logan. Don't even say it." She exhaled sharply and turned her back on him as she walked down the corridor. "Good night."

Watching her go, Logan surrendered the last bit of his anger and called out with some frustration, "Neena- wait just a minute."

She paused. "Why? So I can keep being a vicious bitch to you? So you can be an interfering old woman to me?" She turned to face him. "Listen, today just hasn't been a good day, OK? Please, let me try to salvage what modicum of dignity I can and just go to bed."

"I've got a better idea," he held out his hand to her, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a familar smile. "Come with me and drown your sorrows in a bottle of cheap liquor."

She snorted dubiously. "*That's* healthy."

He shrugged. "Hey, it's worked for me all of these years. Come on- getting out of here will do us both some good."

She looked down the long empty hall towards her small empty room, then back at him. Suddenly, the thought of spending the night alone, with Nathan so close by. . . She shivered. "I can't argue with that. Only one condition - no more of this serious talk. I can't deal with any more of this shit tonight."

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. "Fair enough. Now- are you comin' with me or not?"

She glanced down at her casual garb and winced. "Let me change clothes and I'll meet you in the lobby. Give me. . . ten minutes?

"Not a minute longer." He flashed a crooked smile, and was gone.

She watched him go, then walked down the hallway to her room, as always, alone. _________________

He never said a word as he moved atop her with avian grace, wings partially extended in a canopy above them. Blue eyes studied her intently as he deliberately pushed inside her, careful of her injuries, measured as always.

He hadn't instigated this tonight. She had first pushed for sex during the ride to the theatre, when both were full and sated with an excellent meal and too much wine. In the back of the car, in the open solitude of completely opaque privacy windows, she had crawled into his lap, allowing her hands and mouth to roam all over him, working up the desire that she thought she wanted. Despite his undeniable physical reaction to her urgings, he had resisted, citing her injuries and her recent return. Although she was repressing her telepathy while she healed from her psionic injuries, she sensed his sincerity, his genuine desire not to hurt her. She persisted, though, assuring him that the return of sexual appetite was an indication of physical health and that he should certainly do everything he could to help her heal.

He protested again, but she nipped his ear and slid her hand into his pants and prevailed. Now, back at their apartment, one leg curled around his neck, the other wrapped around his waist as she rocked herself against him, smiling as his own thrusts grew quicker, more sure.

Even as the rhythym intensified, however, he remained silent. He was always quiet during sex. Not withdrawn, certainly an active participant and a good lover, but . . . silent. It had been extremely disconcerting to her early on in their relationship, and she had prodded him repeatedly to speak, to scream, to cry out in passion at the pure sensations their union brought.

He had tried. She had to give him credit for that. He had certainly tried, but it felt forced, unnatural, so she reluctantly gave up and let him experience the union in his own way, as she did in hers.

He was entirely too controlled to allow himself full release like that, and in a manner of speaking, she understood completely. Elisabeth Braddock knew all about control.

For a moment, a brief moment, a glimpse from one of the wilder points of her evening with Logan superimposed itself in her memory, and she flushed. Control had no place whatsoever in what happened that night.

Banishing the acute and very real feelings of guilt the memories brought, especially as she lay in the arms of another man, she warmed at the thought of the animal passion Logan aroused in her, sex so powerful and intense that it bordered on dangerous. They had both lost control more than once, she remembered hazily, felt her body respond to the memory as much as to the ministration of her lover.

In sharp contrast, everything about Warren Worthington III was measured and deliberate, especially their sex life. Every movement was deliberate, every action intentional. At first she had suspected that he had learned this while his wings still bore steel fletchettes. Then, control was not a matter of preference but a necessity. One little slip and his partner would wind up dead- that was far too great a burden for any person to bear. Later, though, she learned that he had always been this way. Control had been ingrained in this man from his earliest days, and this was just another manifestation of that training.

Blanking her mind from these thoughts, all thoughts, she just exulted in the sheer pleasure of the man inside her, controlled though his motions may have been. Her eyelids fluttered, and she saw that he allowed himself a small smile, knowing she was close.

She moved faster, trailing her fingertips along his back, encircling the base of his wings, flattening her breasts against his muscled chest as she pulled him even deeper inside.

He responded and intensified his own pace. Moaning deep in his throat, the equivalent of a scream in another man, he buried his face in the curve of her neck as his wings expanded to their full span and his body quivered against her. Eyes closed, she let him bring her along with him, and they rocked together as waves of release washed over them both.

When it was over, she lay still for a moment, savoring the sensation, and then rolled away from where he had collapsed upon her. "Thank you, love," she murmured, kissing him on the cheek and moving to the edge of the huge bed. "That was nice."

With a start, she realized she meant it. It was nice. Not bad, not great, but nice. Serviceable. Good enough. She'd be a fool not to settle for something like this.

She shivered at the last thought, and quickly turned over her shoulder and looked at him, lying on his stomach, his expression relaxed now in post-coital bliss. Huge powder-white wings draped over him, brilliant against his soft blue skin, and for a moment she marveled at the beauty of the man.

"Betsy?" He sighed, voice lowerer and deeper than usual as he mumbled into his pillow.

"Hmmm?" She murmured in response, twisting her hair into a thick violet rope as she sat on the other side of the bed.

"I'm really glad you're home." He offered a smile, like a gift, and for a moment their sleepy eyes met in something deeper than words.

"I . . . am, too, Warren," she answered slowly as a feeling of great warmth for this man welled up in her soul. She thought for a moment, wishing that she felt comfortable enough with her injured telepathic shielding to risk sharing his thoughts. Her lips curved in a smile, and she murmured in a sultry voice, "Care to give it a go again?"

She turned around in her best seductive pose, and stopped short. He was dead asleep, his wings rising and falling slightly with each even breath. She sighed in disappointed irritation and climbed back into the bed, turning her back to him and lying some distance apart.

"Never mind," she muttered darkly to herself as the feelings of peace and satisfaction faded into the night. There was no response, but then again, she really didn't expect one.

She lay there quietly, listening to him breathe, and all of a sudden she felt so frustrated she wanted to scream. Instead, she pulled a pillow over her face, unsatisfied, and rolled over and tried unsuccessfully to go to sleep.

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-DuAnn

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives, give I unto you. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. -John 14:27